


Paint your smile on your lips

by Sparklefingers



Category: Doctor Strange (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Gunplay, M/M, Suicidal Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 07:49:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21296027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sparklefingers/pseuds/Sparklefingers
Summary: Stephen comes to Victor. Because Victor is the only one who could understand.
Relationships: Stephen Strange/Victor von Doom
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Paint your smile on your lips

**Author's Note:**

> Please note that there are trigger warnings for gunplay and improper use of guns, as well as suicidal thoughts. If this is not your thing, please don't read this. I really don't want to cause anyone distress or harm. 
> 
> There was a really nice plot idea floated in the DoomStrange server. We went. WILDLY off-topic. This idea wouldn't leave me alone after and I needed to get it out of my head.

He kneels because he wants to, not because he is made to.

Stephen’s submission is something freely given, never taken. Those are the conditions of their arrangement.

Victor’s fingers curl through soft black hair. He’s been dying it again, covering up the streaks of grey. Ridiculous, really. Stephen looks good no matter what.

Stephen’s grey eyes watch Victor, unreadable but intense. Hard as he tries, Victor cannot understand much of what motivates Stephen. He does not understand why he keeps coming. He could surely find someone safer. Kinder. Closer geographically, even.

Fingers close around Stephen’s chin, tilting his face up to inspect it. His thumb strokes along his jaw. Stephen swallows. His attention is fixed entirely upon Victor and it is intoxicating. In this moment, he feels as if he is Stephen’s entire world. His other hand comes up, fingers tracing Stephen’s soft mouth before pressing in, firmly but not unkindly. Stephen immediately begins to lick at them, gaze unfaltering. Daring Victor to blink first.

Again, Victor wonders why Stephen trusts him with this. With him. As if to prove a point, he shifts his grip from Stephen’s chin to the back of his head. He clenches his fist in the soft hair, pulling his head back and forcibly breaking the staring contest. Stephen gasps around the fingers.

Ah.

This is what Stephen wants.

This is why Stephen comes to Victor Von Doom.

Victor pulls harder, Stephen’s head tilted back at a painful angle and his mouth dropping open. Such an invitation should not be rejected. It would be impolite. After all, if the panting coming from the sorcerer is any indication this exactly what Stephen wants.

Fingers are not good enough for Stephen. Not now. No. He needs something more substantial. Deserves something that will give him the rush that he clearly desires.

Keeping his grip firm, Stephen does not see Victor pull the Mauser pistol from the holster that is never far from Victor’s person. Victor strokes the cool metal along Stephen’s defined cheekbones and a tortured breath escapes from the doctor.

“Do you want this, Stephen?”

A chance to back out. A chance for him to make a single sane decision this day.

“Please.”

Victor pulls his head back again, Stephen’s mouth dropping open obediently. His tongue pokes out the tiniest bit past his lower lip. His breath hitches as the muzzle of the pistol touches his tongue, the sight clinking against his upper teeth until Stephen opens his mouth further.

That perfect pink tongue darts out to wrap around the narrow barrel and Victor feels his own breathing quicken at the picture before him. Stephen’s face is flushed, his breath is gasping, his legs tremble in a way that does not seem to indicate fear. Stephen’s lips wrap around the long, thin, barrel and Victor can see his throat work as he swallows. He cannot help himself as he pushes it in further. The sight is thankfully rounded on top unlike other pistols, but the protrusion cannot be comfortable in his mouth.

Stephen moans.

Victor’s composure shatters.

He stands, bracketing Stephen with his legs as he bends over him. He pulls harder on Stephen’s hair, forcers him to take more of the barrel.

“Is this what you wanted? To be at my mercy like this? To hope that I possess enough mercy to not pull the trigger?” Stephen sobs around the metal occupying his mouth. The sound is desperate, it is needy. “Or do you secretly hope that I will? It would be over before you could even hear the click of the trigger. Did you come here because you knew I could do what no other has the courage to do?” The gun is roughly shoved deeper. Stephen’s lips almost touch the main body of the pistol.

“Are you so desperate for someone to free you from this life?”

A tear escapes from Stephen’s eye.

A moan that sounds like it has been forcibly pulled from Stephen’s throat. 

Victor pulls the trigger.

Stephen’s body shudders and his throat convulses around the barrel as he pulls desperately against the hand holding him firmly in place.

Victor holds this tableau for a minute, the silence broken only by Stephen’s gasps for breath.

Finally, he withdraws the unloaded pistol and returns it to the holster. He releases Stephen’s hair. He slumps to the ground, still gasping for breath.

“It seems not.”

Victor exits, leaving Stephen gasping on his hands and knees, shaking.


End file.
